


Hook, Line, and Sinker

by tisfan



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Blind Date, Call Me Maybe, Dare, Gen, Hangover, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sort Of, weird flavors of ice cream (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Tony woke up with a hangover and someone’s phone number. Rhodey doesn’t quite believe it. With Tony’s prize Shelby on the line...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UnreliableUnseelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnreliableUnseelie/gifts).



> sequel to [WinterIron: Pick Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13622298)
> 
> Also, for Tony Stark Bingo, Square R3 Dares/Bets

 

Tony woke up with a head full of cotton batting, a mouth full of dragon shit, and a memory of the previous evening that was entirely lacking.

He managed to roll over, away from the very annoying beam of light -- light, hah, felt more like a brain-destroying laser -- that was flooding his room, at the expense of everything left over in his stomach rebelling. “Oh, god,” he said, and then sprinted for the bathroom.

Okay, sprint was pushing it. Ambled with purpose and direction.

Whatever he’d eaten had probably tasted better on the way down, but since Tony couldn’t remember anything after he and Rhodey hit the third bar, he couldn’t guarantee it. He was just trying to find a bar that had the right ambiance.

He wasn’t sure he’d managed it.

He bid farewell to his late night snack, flushed, rinsed his mouth, spit. Used the bathroom for its other purpose, flushed again.

Considered taking a shower.

Considered not taking a shower.

Honestly, his sadiversary was getting to be old news, and he was too old to be acting like that anymore anyway.

He wasn’t even sure he really missed Steve anymore.

Did he?

He didn’t. Tony decided that, firmly. He did not miss Steve, that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

He tried to remember if he’d decided that last year, too.

Maybe he could go for a big party, his five year sadiversary next year, and then, it could all be over, over, over.

“Or you could just stop,” Tony told his reflection.

Shower.

He could do it.

Not mourning his failed relationships any longer.

He could do that, too.

Tony emptied his pockets; he’d apparently just rolled into bed, since the only thing he was missing from his outfit were his shoes and tie. And got only knew, he might have thrown the tie out last night. He’d been known to do that sort of thing before.

“New man,” he told his reflection. “New life.”

Wallet. Keys. Phone.

Cocktail napkin.

Cocktail napkin?

There were digits on a cocktail napkin. In his pocket.

“Jarvis, call Rhodey,” he told his phone. His phone did its thing while Tony finished getting undressed. “Speaker.”

“There’s coffee already prepped for you downstairs, no you didn’t puke last night before I left,” Rhodey said as soon as he picked up. “Your car is fine, we left it at the garage, and as far as I know, there are no warrants out for your arrest.”

“Thank you for that cheerful morning report,” Tony said. He turned the shower on and shivered as the water didn’t insta-heat and the first blast was cold over his forearm and hand.

“Seems like what you’d want to know,” Rhodey said. “How’s the hangover?”

“I think it’s been worse,” Tony said, stepping into the spray. It was still not as warm as he wanted it to be, so he turned it up some while he waited, cringing all the way in the back of the shower, away from the cold.

Which was stupid, because thirty seconds later it was way too hot and he had to reach through it to turn it down. He should get on the set-my-preferences shower system that would just… chime when it was ready. Like a microwave.

Except, you know, nothing like an actual microwave, because those were dangerous, even on short term exposure.

“You were doing okay, last night,” Rhodey said. “With the drinking. But then you decided to play bertie botts every flavor ice cream last night with some ridiculous little ice cream shop that’s open twenty-four seven and what the hell man, I could not keep you from eating chocolate and jalapeno ice cream at three in the morning.”

“Well, that explains my rude awakening,” Tony said. He considered that for a moment. “Did I say it was good? I mean, it sounds kinda awful, but also intriguing.”

“I didn’t eat it,” Rhodey said. “And I don’t lick another man’s ice cream cone, that’s just wrong. Especially when it’s yours.”

“So what kind did you have?”

“Maple Bacon with Jack Daniels,” Rhodey said without a hint of shame.

“Where’s this ice cream shop again? I think I’d like to go there when I’m sober.”

“We can make that happen, Tones.”

“Great,” Tony said. He filled his luffa with shower gel and was instantly drowning in some vaguely outdoorsy scented soap. “So, tell me, did I score last night?”

“You certainly did not,” Rhodey said.

“Really? Cause I got digits here that say otherwise.”

“That is a fake number, that guy totally did not give you his real number, you were being a total drunken asshole, flirting with some bar-bum. Like the worst lines ever. I wouldn’t date you with those lines.”

“Rhodey, you’ve known me since I was fifteen. I’m pretty sure if you were going to date me, you’d have said something about it by now. Fake number, huh?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t even remember the _ice cream_ , much less flirting,” Tony said.

“Oh, well… too bad. You two totally played tonsil hockey for a while,” Rhodey said.

“I thought you said it was a fake number,” Tony said. He rubbed shampoo into his hair. “So, if we were necking, that seems to counter the theory that it’s fake.”

“It was a pity kiss,” Rhodey said.

“ _Nobody_ gives pity kisses,” Tony scoffed. “And even if they did, no one would pity kiss me. I mean, I’m… good looking. Mostly.” He rinsed his hair, let the shower water run down his head for a while. Maybe he could drown in the shower, that might cure the hangover. Of course, it would mean drowning, and that just sounded uncomfortable. Not to mention, the whole being naked and dead thing. Would he even care about his image if he was dead, or would he be too dead to care?

Tony shook his head, which was a mistake.

“Don’t even try that false modesty bullshit, Tony,” Rhodey said. “You know you’re the thing. Mr. Thing, Mr. Third most Eligible.”

“Yeah, I never liked that shit, brings the gold diggers out in full force. One of these days, I’d like someone to like me for… you know. Me.”

“Yeah, Tones, what’s not to like about you?”

“I hear that sarcasm,” Tony said. “And you’re hurting me here, sourpatch. I am hurt. Like, there might be actual tears and everything.”

“Look,” Rhodey said, “you and that guy, you were on the same page last night, but I’m telling you, you were reading totally different books.”

“I’m gonna call him,” Tony said.

Rhodey scoffed. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.” He wasn’t.

“I bet you it’s a false number.”

“Bet you it isn’t.”

“Oh, it’s on, Tones,” Rhodey said. “A hundred dollars says it’s a fake.”

“Five hundred,” Tony said, “verses --” he paused, trying to think of something Rhodey actually wanted that Tony might feel bad about giving him. There wasn’t much; usually Rhodey wouldn’t let Tony give him gifts, not like expensive, real ones, at any rate. And Pepper kept boycotting his idea of buying Rhode Island and renaming it. She said it wasn’t a good tax write off. Spoilsport.

“The Shelby.”

“Wo-- my car?”

“Tony, you have like _seventy_ cars. But I like that one.”

“Deal. I’ll take my winnings in cash, no trade value,” Tony said. “Jarvis, end call.”

Tony got out of the shower and toweled off. Less vigorously than normal because see previously mentioned: hung over. Got his bathrobe and made his way to the kitchen. Punched the button on his coffee machine.

Considered the cocktail napkin and his phone.

Drank his coffee.

Dialed the number.

“Mmmphs?” a voice said, a male voice, even, so Tony figured he might be getting somewhere. “If this isn’t an insanely good looking guy, I’m hanging up.”

“Well, you’re in luck today,” Tony said.

“Do I know you?” the voice wondered. “Because really, I don’t think I made friends with people who were cheerful at… ug… it’s not even nine in the morning, what kind of masochist are you, it’s _Saturday_.”

_Already, a man after my own heart._ “Um, this is probably going to sound weird, but uh… did you give your number to anyone last night?”

There was a very long pause and Tony might have thought that the person hung up, except he could hear breathing.

“Yessss,” the man said, tentatively. “If you’re a friend of Sammie’s though, and this is a joke, you let that half-assed--”

“Not a joke--” Tony protested. “I found a cocktail napkin in my pocket, and I was wondering…” Wondering what, actually. If he was the guy from last night, if they’d had a good time, if it was a nice kiss, what’s your name, what do you look like… “would you like to have an ice cream with me. Today?”

“Wha---?” The guy asked. “Are you seriously asking me on an ice cream date after a ten minute conversation in a bar?”

“Why not?” Might as well roll with it, now that he’d gotten started. “Just, no strings or anything, no nothing. Just ice cream and a little get to know you. What, coffee dates are lame, everyone does coffee dates. I drink so much coffee that it’s like having a date at the corner water cooler.”

“Yeah, okay,” the guy said. “Ice cream date. Sure, why not?”

“Okay, so… four o’clock? Um… I’ll, um, text you the address? And… I might have had beer goggles on last night, so, text me back a picture? Just to make sure, because I’m pretty sure the conversation was with an angel, or a model or something.” Tony didn’t actually remember the guy at all, but a little flattery. And he’d win his bet… right? He could part with the car if the picture was scary. Hell, even if the picture wasn’t scary, he owed the guy for letting him know what Rhodey wanted for his next present.

“Sure,” the guy said. “I’ll… uh, see you at four, then.”

“Yep!”

Fortunately, typing in _maple bacon jack daniels ice cream_ in his search engine got him the address for the ice cream shop. He texted his date -- who… had a name. And it was probably a boy’s name, too, except Tony didn’t know it. Fuck.

Then he texted Rhodey: _Got a date. Four o’clock. Ice cream shop. Cash only!_

A few seconds later, he texted again. _Or, if he happened to tell me his name last night and you remember it, I’ll forgive you for betting against me._

New Text From Rhodey: _Bucky Barnes._

Tony stared at the screen for a long moment. Then. _You’re forgiven for thinking it was a fake number because I’m not sure that’s a real name._

New text from unknown number: _Selfie from the gym a few weeks ago._

Attached was a picture of a guy wearing a baseball hat and workout clothes, scowling fiercely and pulling up his shirt to reveal ridiculously sculpted abs.

Tony stared.

“You’d think I’d remember him,” he said wistfully.

Texted back _See you at Four._

New text from unknown number: _looking forward to it. My first ice cream date since high school._

Tony texted Rhodey again, attaching the picture.

_Cash. Only. I lied. You are totally not forgiven._


	2. In the Pipeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky go for their first date. Ice cream is eaten. Spies are spotted. Sisters are placated…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Tony Stark Bingo: A3 Freesquare

“So, uh, he called,” Bucky said. He had his phone tucked awkwardly between his head and shoulder and it kept slipping. He scowled, hit the speaker phone and tossed the whole thing on the bed.

Shenanigans, who was sleeping on the bed, _mrrped_ at him and got up to inspect the object, in case it was a treat. Or something to play with.

“Who called?” Sam’s voice came out of the speaker and Shen batted at the phone with one curious paw. Sam was decidedly one of Shen’s favorite people and Bucky wasn’t sure how much the cat understood about phones or voices; was she saying hi to Sam by batting the phone, or just checking to see if the phone was going to move under its own powers.

“Stark,” Bucky said.

“I don’t believe you, man,” Sam declared.

“And I care why?”

“If you didn’t care, man, you wouldn’t be callin’ me up to brag,” Sam said. “But as it happens, I do not believe you.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen?” He could probably talk Tony into a selfie on their first date, right? Especially if Bucky did the hipster thing and took photos of the location and the ice cream and generally acted like he documented every part of his life. He didn’t, mostly because his life consisted of visiting his physical therapist, visiting his other therapist, going to the VA to argue about his benefits, and going to the bar. He hadn’t been on a date since he got discharged, and he _certainly_ didn’t do out and about trendy little ice cream shops in upper Manhattan.

“So where’s your fictional date taking you?”

Bucky gave him the details, while sorting through his wardrobe for something that didn’t scream murder hobo. Most of his clothes were either loose-fitting tees and jeans, or cardigans because he got cold easily, but his injury made it hard to get into a sweater. He had a few button down shirts that he wore to (pitifully few) job interviews and sometimes when his Ma pushed him to go to church with the family.

He didn’t want to look all baggy and bummed out, so he picked the snazziest colored button down he owned -- a deep maroon -- and a black tank top from Cheeseburger in Paradise.

“Uh huh,” Sam said. “Okay, you’re going to do _ice cream_ as a first date?”

“Dude, stop,” Bucky said. He fitted the shirts together so he could look at them, frowned. “I… what should I wear?”

“Somethin’ that ice cream won’t show up on when you drip all over yourself,” Sam suggested.

“God, you’re an asshole, why am I even friends with you?”

“You’re a sloppy eater, pal, just own it,” Sam told him.

“I am left-handed,” Bucky pointed out.

“Not anymore you ain’t,” Sam said. Which was true, and it stung just a little, but Bucky appreciated that Sam didn’t baby him about it. If he’d said something like that to Ma, she’d have gotten all apologetic.

“Fuck it, I’ll wear the black,” Bucky said.

“Remember to take pictures,” Sam said and then the phone went dead. Shen bapped it a few times with her paw, managed to bring up a game app which buzzed as it sent a slew of notifications. Shen hissed in disgust, fleeing off the bed and cowering underneath it.

He checked the location of the shop at least four times, traced his route through the city, decided on an alternate route if it turned out that this was one of his can’t actually get on the damn subway like a fucking New Yorker, Jesus Christ. (His therapist had been helping him with alternate plans, rather than berating himself for the things he couldn’t do, having a backup plan often let him get through the current plan. He could always change his mind and nothing had to be ruined. It was fine. Accepting his new limitations was fine. He was going to be fine.)

Decided to eat, because he had a weakness for ice cream and if he didn’t eat before he left, he’d probably end up ordering some ridiculous sundae the size of his head and snarfing the whole thing, and while it would probably be worth it, in terms of ice cream, it would absolutely not be worth the stomach ache he’d have later.

Took a shower, decided to skip shaving. He was still left handed, he hated the damn electric thing that Ma had given him, and the scruff wasn’t too bad yet. He could pull it off as fashion-intentional rather than laziness and a refusal to go on a first date with his face in tatters. Dressed. Took a picture of his cat inside the apartment.

Shen had gotten out once when he wasn’t paying attention, and ever since then, the paranoia of “was the cat in the house when I left” seriously ate at him until Becca had suggested photographing the cat before he left so he knew right where she was. Becca joked around with him about it. “I take photos of my kids every time we go somewhere, just so I know what they look like in case they get lost in the grocery,” she’d told him.

He ended up bailing on the subway about four stops away from his destination. Either someone was wearing too much perfume, or someone had been vaping like crazy, because the train suddenly reeked of fake vanilla. For just an instant, he could almost feel the rain on his face, the way the yellow car air freshener had swung, slowly to a stop. The fact that the car was upside down and the radio was still on. Bucky shook himself out of old memories and got the fuck off the train as soon as it pulled to a stop.

He pulled his phone out once he got to the sidewalk, pulling up his map. Two blocks up, three over, two more up, and then-- yeah, okay. He made a note to discuss flashbacks with his therapist again, but at least he hadn’t lost track of where he was, or what he was supposed to be doing. He tucked himself into a corner, out of pedestrian traffic. He tapped the photo of his cat. Checked his email, deleted some spam. Waited until his heart rate was back to normal, then merged in with the crowds.

Bucky was only a little late; but when he got there, looked around and didn’t see Tony, his heart sank. He really hoped Tony hadn’t set him up or something. He couldn’t imagine why a guy like Tony Stark would make a joke-call for a date, but he also couldn't’ really imagine why a guy like Tony Stark would ask him out in the first place. How long was standard to wait for a date?

Had Tony showed up, not seen Bucky and left?

It was ten after.

Was that too late?

Bucky didn’t know, he would assume twenty minutes was standard just because New York, am I right, but…

Breathe, Barnes. In. Count to three. Out. It’s fine. Buy some ice cream, eat it. By the time you’re done, it’ll be at least four-thirty and you can go. It’s ice cream, right?

He went in, doing another scan of the seats inside, just in case he missed Tony, somehow. Took a few pictures of the inside of the shop, then some of the ice cream flavor menu, mostly so he could show it to his therapist with a and people think I’m crazy, who the fuck is going to eat mango habanero ice cream?

“Oh, hey, can we get some samples, here?” A voice said right next to him and Bucky looked up to see Tony grinning at him. “I totally want to try this mango habanero, don’t you?”

“Uh, no?” Bucky said, dubiously. “I don’t really go for spicy stuff all that much, honestly. I’m kinda a wimp about that. Anything more than a deli mustard is a no go.”

“Oh, well, more for me,” Tony said. “It’s good to see you, what… what do you think? Watermelon margarita sorbet?”

Bucky peered at the selection while the server was handing Tony a couple of tiny spoons. “Can I try… brandy plum? And fig with chevre?”

“Fruit flavors sort of guy? I mean, their base chocolate is to commit murder for, but the strawberry lime was pretty good, too. And is it just me, or do you look even better without the beer goggles? Like how is that even possible? Are you a for-real model, or angel, or something?”

They went through another couple of samples before they settled on two scoops each, in bowls, and ducked into a booth. “Thanks, Hap,” Tony said. “This is my driver, Happy. Don’t let the name fool you, he scowls a lot. Usually at me, but also sometimes at people who want to take my seat.”

Bucky took his pictures, ice cream, selfie with the ice cream, and a shot of him and Tony together with their ice creams, which Tony tolerated with a good natured grin. Also, how the fuck did he do that? The guy looked amazing in a selfie without any filters or anything, while Bucky looked like something that might have fallen out of a truck. “Do you mind, if I post these? I kinda do a thing…” Well, not entirely true, but it could be a thing, it could totally be a thing, posting pictures of dates. He wouldn’t mind that.

Tony was pretty, the ice cream was good, they were making conversation, even if it was only about ice cream in general, and Bucky mostly didn’t want to crawl under the table and die, which he frequently wanted to do whenever Becca made him go out with her and her friends.

“As long as your Instagram isn’t Stupid Things My Date did, we’ll be fine,” Tony said. “Do you mind if I uhhh--” He waved his spoon around in a little figure eight near Bucky’s ice cream.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Bucky said, leaning back while Tony stole a few bites. He’d barely finished poking his phone to get his pictures loaded when his phone rang. He nearly dropped the damn thing, no one fucking called him, who the-- Bucky blinked and answered the phone. “Becca--”

“What are you doing at Cream & Shout and didn’t invite me? I am appalled at you, Jaime Barnes, I have severe period cramps today and I deserve ice cream, and you just what, traipse right by my apartment and don’t even--”

“Oh my god, Becca,” Bucky groaned. “I am--”

“EATING ICE CREAM WITHOUT ME, you are a terrible excuse for a big brother, I am going to tell both of your nieces and your very favorite nephew--”

“--on a date,” Bucky continued as if she wasn’t screaming at him over the phone and forcing him to try to find the down call volume while looking inconspicuous and like his sister wasn’t ranting about her damn period at him. Also, how was he supposed to know when Becca was having her period, it wasn’t like he lived with her anymore. That being said, he plucked a pen out of his pocket and made a note on the napkin. Maybe if he bought her Oreos next month without being asked, she’d forgive him.

“--what?”

“I’m on a date, Becca. What are you doing, stalking my Instagram?”

“Well, you haven’t used it in like four years, and then Sam started posting pictures of you onto Facebook--”

“Sam’s doing what?” Bucky sighed, looking around. Oh. There he was. God _damnit._ “Nevermind, I got him.”

“And you’re way out of your stomping grounds, so I was worried, the last time you went that far from home, you were having--”

“Stop, Becca. Date. Remember?”

“Date? Really?”

“I do date, sometimes, you know,” Bucky said, trying to remain cool.

“No,” Becca said, flatly. “You don’t. And I don’t know. That’s great. I’ll… just…”

“Call me later, or I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

Bucky hung up the phone and sighed. “Sorry, that was my sister. She’s mad that I didn’t bring her any ice cream.”

“Uh, unless you’ve invented teleporting, you can’t possibly have brought her any,” Tony said. “Being that you’re still her. Does she have a favorite flavor? I could-- well, if you wanted a lift home instead of taking the subway or something, there’s a coldbox in the car and-- too much? Is that too much to offer, I’m sorry, I have problems existing in the real world sometimes.”

“No, that… that would be great, actually. It’s her and my two nieces and one nephew and I bet that they’d love it,” Bucky said. “I mean, I know meeting family on a first date is a little extreme, but I promise, I won’t bring up rings and curtains until at least--”

“Fourth date? I have kinda a bad record for dating, so three is usually as many as I get before people decide I’m too high maintenance.”

“I was going to say _next year_ ,” Bucky said, smothering a laugh.

“Next year, next week, whatever,” Tony said, waving the hand holding the spoon around and dripping ice cream onto the table. “So, what flavors, I’ll get to-go tubs or something.”

Bucky considered it, and then picked Quad Chocolate, Very Berry, and Pink Bubblegum because his nieces would love it and Becca would make shuddery yuck faces at him. While Tony was placing the order, Bucky pulled out his phone again and texted Sam.

_Baseball hat and sunglasses isn’t a disguise, Sammie. You still look like you. Just, you at a baseball game._

_Also, Tony’s getting ice cream for Becca. But none for you._

Sam took out his phone and a few seconds later, he flipped Bucky off.

New text from Sam:

_I hate you._

Bucky chuckled and was just about to put his phone away again when another text came through,

_Besides I know where Becca lives. Girlfriend likes me._

Bucky choked. _You are not allowed to date my sister. You’d make a terrible stepfather._

Sam flipped him off again.

“Are you exchanging heated words with your parole officer over there, or what?” Tony asked, sitting back down. “I mean, I think that’s the bartender from last night with the pumpkin spice beer shit, but that takes customer service a bit far, don’t you think?”

“We met at a group thing, an’ I started going to his bar as some sort of combined get-out-of-the-house and talk-to-real-people thing. Sam’s a friend,” Bucky explained. “Sometimes I think he’s the only one I got.”

“Well, I won’t be much help with that,” Tony said. “I’ve got four friends, and you’ve met two of them already.”

“Small steps,” Bucky said. “That’s what my therapist says. You can meet my sister, and you know Sam; I know your wingman -- he’s terrible, by the way -- and your driver. It’s certainly a lot better than being dragged to some group event where everyone’s asking questions and doing old injokes and you feel like you’re being ignored and being vivisected at the same time.”

“Rhodey is terrible,” Tony said, putting his fingers over his heart. “I am shocked to hear it. Shocked and delighted. I’d have you say it again so I can record it, but that would be weird. Would it be weird? I think it would be weird. Oh, thank you, Kiana, yeah, that’s for you. Tip and all.”

The cashier stared at the stack of bills left in her hand, then, “Can I get an autograph?”

“Sure, sure,” Tony said, and he whipped out a sharpie. “Kiana, that’s with an i, right? Yep, there it is, right there on the receipt. Thank you so much, keep up the good work, this is a great shop and I love it.” Tony got to his feet and picked up the bag. “Shall we?” He gave Bucky a mock-genteel bow and ushered them both out of the shop. “Come along, Happy, we’re going to-- where are we going, honeybunches, you didn’t say.”

“Brooklyn,” Bucky said, and he tipped a wink in Sam’s direction, who was sitting at one of the tables outside still pretending that Bucky hadn’t noticed him.

“I’ll take these,” Happy said, grabbing the bag and opening the car door.

Bucky pulled out his phone again. _Bringing you ice cream, you brat._

New Text from Becca:

_I take back like half the bad things I’ve said about you. Today._

_You know I can just eat this, right?_  

Tony was smiling at him, leaning against the car door so he could watch.

“What?” Bucky said, self consciously, sliding his phone away.

“It’s just nice,” Tony said. “You have no idea how very few people… are like this. Around me, I mean. You’re like… dates that I see on sitcoms and stuff. Awkward conversations, and texting with your friends, and dripping ice cream down your shirt. It’s nice.”

Damnit, did-- Bucky looked down to check his shirt, half panicked, and then Tony was laughing.

“Made you look,” he cackled.

“You are literally a child,” Bucky scolded him, balling up a paper napkin after brushing it over his shirt and finding nothing.

“You’re adorable,” Tony said, and then, delighted, “oh, god, you’re blushing. That’s so cute!”

Bucky threw the paper napkin at Tony, who batted it back at him like they were playing badminton or something.

“Don’t make me turn this limo around, Mr. Stark,” Happy commented from the front and Bucky lost it, cracking up until he couldn’t breathe.

“You absolutely have to go on another date with me,” Tony said. He didn’t make a move, didn’t lean into Bucky’s personal space, didn’t even lick his lips, just looked at him, like he’d never seen anything quite so wonderful.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his neck still hot. He felt just a little bit like a zoo exhibit, some wild and strange creature that Tony would eventually get tired of, but… maybe not. Maybe… maybe it could be something worth having.

Worth trying.

Small steps.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said. “Okay, we can… yeah. I’d like that.”

 


End file.
